


Getting to Know You

by EllenD



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Polyamory, Romance, Slow Burn, Trauma, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenD/pseuds/EllenD
Summary: Aaron Burr enters law school and meets a group of four fascinating men who are in a polyamorous relationship. Charmed and dazzled by each one of them, he finds himself tentatively drawn into their world and experiences both love and healing from his own past. Inspired byRandom_Soul's epic series, Aaron Burr x Hamilsquad. Sort of a prequel, showing how poor Aaron meets each member of the Hamilsquad and how they they totally come to adore him. Featuring gratuitous hurt/comfort!
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Everyone, Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Aaron Burr/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Aaron Burr/Hercules Mulligan, Aaron Burr/John Laurens, Past Aaron Burr/James Reynolds, Past Aaron/Theodosia
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	1. Farmer Refuted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Soul/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Where He Fell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177942) by [Random_Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Soul/pseuds/Random_Soul). 



> No coypright infringement intended, no profits made. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Farmer Refuted

There was a heckler in the crowd. He was annoying Aaron.

“Do you actually have a- _aaa-_ any idea what you’re talking about?” the guy called out around a cupped hand, his voice mercilessly clear across the West Lawn. He had a hipster ponytail and matching facial hair, his arms crossed belligerently over a rumpled button-down. “Seriously? Do you even understand the words coming out your own mouth?”

Aaron closed his eyes briefly and tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the speaker, Samuel Seabury. Failed.

Sam was standing on a milk crate, on which he’d artfully spray-painted “Soap,” and was fighting, flushed, to drown out the intruding voice. A handful of law students had gathered on campus to hear him speak, and most were filming the impromptu catfight with their phones.

Aaron sighed and fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Yo, should you even be talking? You’re a trust fund baby, Seabury! When was the last time you even clipped coupons, much less applied for government assistance? And no, using the tablet Daddy bought you to google discount codes for a hot yoga class doesn’t count.”

That stung. Aaron had a trust fund. And he occasionally enjoyed hot yoga.

“Did you even come up with any of this yourself or did you just copy and paste from the _National Review_?”

“Can you just let him talk?” Aaron spoke up before he could stop himself. “Please?”

Heckler Guy blinked dark eyes at him, then looked away and mumbled, “Yeah, whatever.”

Not two minutes later: “Oh come on! You’re denigrating lower income families, and whatever crackpot, elitist economic theory you’re selling has already been debunked by multiple sources, including Forbes-”

“You know what, you are being _very_ rude right now!” snapped Aaron.

“ _I’m_ being rude?” The Heckler’s attention swept from Sam to Aaron. “ _He’s_ clearly talking out his backside. Actually, if he did that, it’d be less offensive than whatever’s currently spewing out the other end.”

“Oh, that’s classy. Real classy.”

“Please, drop the niceties. You _know_ he’s bullshitting-”

“Don’t you assume what I know,” said Aaron, giving what he hoped was a good imitation of his uncle’s withering stare, the kind that could peel paint off walls. “He has a right to speak here and you’re being _so_ disrespectful-”

The guy scoffed. “Sure he has a right, but apparently not the ability. Let me know when he’s actually said something intelligent.”

Aaron glanced back at Sam, who was tomato-flushed and furious. The few remaining stragglers had turned their full attention to Aaron and the Heckler instead. Sam was looking like he either wanted to cry or kill someone. Or cry while killing someone. Either and/or both.

“Can I take you to lunch?” Aaron said unexpectedly.

The Heckler froze for a moment, then looked exaggeratedly taken aback, leaning backwards and giving Aaron a deliberate once-over. “Yeah… that’s flattering but I’m afraid I’m spoken for.”

“Wha…? No! Just lunch. Look, leave him alone and I’ll take to you lunch. Have you eaten? If I buy you an overpriced sandwich from the dining hall, will you just let him do his thing in peace?”

A slow, amused grin split the Heckler’s face. “Tempting. But I’m not done ranting at Seabury.”

“You can rant at _me_ over lunch, how’s that?”

Dark eyes narrowed and scanned Aaron, with all the intensity of an alien probe looking for signs of life. A short bark of a laugh. “Hah! Fine. You look like far more intelligent conversation anyway.” He threw an arm around Aaron, startling him with the sudden casualness, and steered them away from the crowd, flipping off a furious Samuel Seabury behind his back. 

Aaron could feel his ears going red as they cut across the lawn, towards the main dining hall. He was rarely this forward. The stranger had brought it out of him, somehow: that old rebellious spark. 

He could hear Jim’s voice hot against the side of his face, spitty and furious: _You don’t have to be so mouthy all the damn time, just shut the fuck up once in a while, it’s so unattractive when you get all uppity…_

The memory made him sweat. _Jim’s not here_ , he reminded himself.

The blush had subsided by the time he brought two Thai chicken sandwiches and two coffees over to the hard-plastic table and bench, where his impromptu companion was waiting, texting one-handed and carelessly sweeping aside a pile of someone else’s crumbs. He put down the phone as Aaron settled himself in the opposite seat.

“Alexander Hamilton, law program,” said the Heckler by way of introduction, somehow already two bites into his sandwich while Aaron was still unwrapping his. “Call me Alex.”

“Pleasure. I’m Aaron.”

“You in Law too? Tell me about yourself.” He was giving Aaron that V’ger probe scan with his eyes again. Reading.

Aaron chuckled and deflected with, “Shouldn’t you be the one talking? I was promised a rant, remember?”

The hand that wasn’t holding the sandwich waved impatiently, then snatched up the cup of coffee on the backswing. “Pssh, forget that. It’s not like he was saying anything we haven’t heard before.”

“Well, I wasn’t able to hear him finish saying it, so…”

“Oh please, you’re smarter than that.”

“You have a high opinion of my intelligence for someone I just met.”

“Don’t tell me you agree with him?”

“It’s a nuanced subject. And like I said, I didn’t really hear his entire argument. How’s the sandwich?”

“Hmm.” 

Aaron picked apart his lunch. Grilled chicken on white bread. The “Thai” part was a scattering of wilted bean sprouts and a smear of some unknown sweet and spicy sauce.

“You don’t give away much, do you?” Alex mused between a sip and bite.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. The way you talk, the way you look. It’s very… neutral. You could either be serial killer or a priest and I wouldn’t be able to tell which.”

Aaron gave an incredulous laugh. “Wow… that’s, um… ok?”

“Or both, I guess. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Well, I’m not in the Divinity program.”

“Does that make you a serial killer then?”

“It doesn’t prove or disprove it otherwise.”

“You sound like a lawyer. You must be stuck in Law with me, then.”

“Yes,” Aaron conceded. “I must be.”

“Got a last name? Notice how I led with ‘Alexander Hamilton?’ Come on, you bought me lunch. That puts us on full name basis.”

“Burr,” he said reluctantly. He smiled, despite himself, drawn in by Alex’s heckling, probing charm. “Aaron. Burr.”

Alex exhaled in surprise mid-sip, blowing a bubble in his coffee. “ _The_ , Aaron Burr?”

“Sure, why not.”

“The prodigy of Princeton College? I heard of you when I applied for an accelerated program there. You’re the genius student, from years ago. But, what are you doing _here_?”

Aaron shrugged with forced nonchalance. Oh, the age-old question. _What are you doing_ here, _Aaron?_ “Same as you.”

“No, I mean… if you graduated so young back then, what have you been doing this whole time?”

He knew exactly what Alexander meant. It was the question most people asked, if not outright, then with the silent language of facial ticks and innuendo.

What was he doing here? Why was he pursuing a law degree now, when he could have shot right through directly after college and emerged, still baby-faced? He’d been a brilliant sixteen-year-old with a brand-name diploma and a million-watt smile, a future so sparkling it was practically shellacked. With his brains, reputation, and old money, he could have gone to any law school on the east coast.

So what was he doing here, years later and years older? What had happened in that yawning gap between his promising childhood and his stunted adulthood?

“Well,” he started, and felt the words clot. _What have you been doing this whole time?_

What had happened was that James “Call me Jim, baby” Reynolds had walked into his life and he’d fallen madly, recklessly in love. He’d fallen so hard and fast and foolishly in love that it felt the most natural thing in the world to abandon his education and his well-plotted life, which seemed like a chokehold, something to be struggled out of.

 _You don’t need all that shit, why do you even want to waste your time studying shit you won’t use in real life?_ Jim had always been adamant that he knew Real Life better than Aaron did. _You don’t know anything about the real world, babe. It’s nothing to do with books and shit. Take it from_ me, _there isn’t a single successful person out there who got that way through school. It’s all street smarts. I’m talking_ entrepreneurs. _Real_ _success._

Jim with his big ideas. Jim with his hand in Aaron’s, pulling him along. Jim with his quick temper. Jim who kissed hard and laughed hard, who made Aaron feel as light and unburdened as a feather. Within a month, they’d moved in together, into the condo that Jim had pressured Aaron into putting a down payment for. Then came a string of failed business ideas, always started with Aaron’s trust fund money, always with Aaron’s encouragement, always, or else Jim would scream and rage and weep that Aaron wasn’t being supportive, was betraying him, was holding Jim’s lack of a high society background against him. 

Fights and tears and making up and some sweet, sweet days, when they’d hang yard sale pictures up on the walls (pocked with cracks from Jim’s fist), and go walking in the park. Watching television together over frozen food, and having sex on the living room rug after a few drinks. Jim was always in the mood, even when Aaron wasn’t. _You need more practice pleasing your man, baby, you’re like a virgin, still._

And Aaron, always stretched thin with worry, anxious and bruised, wondering when the nice days would turn ugly.

Then, the breakup. Both of them screaming. Aaron, terrified. Jim, furious. _You’re embarrassing me, and you’re embarrassing yourself! Get out, get the fuck out!_

Him crying and pleading and barefoot on the lawn, his things strewn across the ground, his dignity stripped away with the wind. _Please take me back!_

And afterwards, the black, listless, stretched-out months that he spent on a friend’s couch, sleeping and sleeping, feeling drained of all life. Pills and booze and despair, the world blurred by tears and snot. Theodosia, his saving grace. Her arms around him. Her perfume soothing his shredded throat and nose. Bringing him out of his weak, unwashed stupor, making him human again as he detoxed from the drugs and the alcohol and Jim, Jim, Jim. Him, starting to live again. Him, running his fingers over his old books again, the ones Jim hadn’t ripped up. Him, taking his first steps outside again, toddler-weak. Him, returning to himself. Him, having to take care of her as she declined, the trickle of money that his uncle released back to him after previously cutting hm off going towards doctors and treatments and pills. Him, loving her up until the end, and feeling like he was dying all over again when she was gone. Her last dry whisper: _What are you doing here, Aaron? You should be living your life, not dying here with me._

_What have you been doing this whole time?_

“Oh, this and that,” he responded tightly, ungluing himself from the past.

Alex must have caught the haunted look in Aaron’s eyes because he backed off, his curiosity reined in. “Hey, no stress,” he said with a soft, genuine smile. “It’s never a straight line from point A to B, right?”

“No. I suppose not.”

Alex crumbled up a napkin and started a story on growing up in the Caribbean. He was guarded about his past, but much freer with it than Aaron was. He smiled as he talked and looked years younger, despite the scruff. Aaron could easily picture him as a child, wild and sun peeled, rushing out in the mornings with breakfast half-crammed into his mouth, his hair home-cut and always lopsided because he could never sit still.

Maybe it was a side effect of being an orphan, but Aaron was always hungry for other people’s childhoods, curious to the point of jealousy.

“Aaron? Aaron Burr?”

The voice had them both turning around, Aaron in confused recognition, Alex with a wave and a smile.

An oddly familiar young man approached their table. He wore medical scrubs and had thick brown hair that was indented from being tied up and squashed into a cap all day.

“It _is_ you!” he said, beaming at Aaron while going over to Alex for a sideways hug. “This guy used to tutor me,” he said to Alex, his smile a mile wide.

It was the smile that did it. Aaron was peering at him, taking in each feature piecemeal and fitting them together, until the guy flashed that grin and then it clicked. “Johnny?” he gasped.

The memory of the boy was incongruous with the image of the man. Johnny Laurens had been a shy, gangly high schooler that Aaron had tutored on the side while studying in Princeton. He’d always doodled elaborate pictures in his note margins and had an odd habit of saying “Amn’t I?” Braces. Bitten fingernails on otherwise beautiful hands. Smart, but in a subdued way.

“I go by John now,” he said mock-seriously, making his voice boom. They laughed. “This guy got me into med school,” he explained to Alex.

“Please,” said Aaron, flushing. “You got yourself into med school.”

“I didn’t think I’d run into you here. Small world, huh? Are you a professor here?”

“No. I’m… a student. Though I do assist.”

“Oh.” John’s brow started to wrinkle with confusion. “A student?”

“He’s doing law with me,” Alex said with a wink.

“Huh.” A short silence dropped between them, and then that dreaded question, “So what have you been doing all this time?”

“This and that,” Alex cut in gracefully, before the gloom could settle on Aaron again. “Let’s head out, ok?” He stood, took John’s elbow and gave it a shake. The two of them started gathering themselves up, John making cheerful offers to catch up with Aaron sometime. A thank-you for lunch. A faintly awkward goodbye.

Aaron watched them go: John pressed to Alex’s side, their faces close as they talked.

 _Little Johnny, all grown up, huh?_ So this was who Alex meant when he’d said, almost dismissively, to Aaron’s lunch invitation: _that’s flattering but I’m afraid I’m spoken for_.

He broke up leftover sandwich bread into pellets as he saw them walk out past the music building, a singer’s piercing, mournful warm-up notes accompanying them as they leaned into each other. He saw Alex reach over to ruffle John’s hair in a comfortable, well-practiced motion, John dipping his chin as he laughed with ease. They exuded it, that invisible yet visible thing, the thing Aaron would’ve died for, what he thought he and Jim had but now realized was a far cry from the actual thing. Love.

 _This isn’t for you_ , he reminded himself, and felt something ache at the base of his throat. _You don’t deserve this_.

X

Aaron arrived at Professor Schuyler’s office after lunch and was greeted by the sight of Thomas leaning dangerously backwards in his chair with feet kicked up on the edge of the desk.

“Don’t _you_ look professional,” he snarked, as he dropped his bag on a nearby table and shook the drizzle from his coat.

“Thanks, I try.”

“I was being sarcastic. You’re an eyesore.”

“Thanks, I try.”

Thomas split a stack of exams to be graded and tossed half to Aaron, who received it with a tired groan.

“Rrrgh, belay that bellyachin’ and get busy, ya scallywag,” said Thomas, doing some weird, extravagant pirate impression that Aaron refused to comment on.

After a half hour of pen scribbles and weak coffee, Aaron got up and stretched, offhandedly asking Thomas, “Hey, you know an Alexander Hamilton in Law?” 

He wasn’t expecting the angry flare of Thomas’ nostrils, though his voice was even as he responded, “Hamilton? That disaster-in-waiting? Yeah, we’ve crossed paths.”

 _And swords, apparently_ , Aaron thought. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s wonderful,” said Thomas, then muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like _upstart little prick_.

“Do you not get along or something?”

“He’s a dumbass who tries to be a smartass, who’s got the faculty fooled into thinking he’s a smart _ass_. And his shoes suck. Why? He a friend of yours?” 

“We’ve… met.”

“Was he mugging you when he introduced himself?”

“Hah, no. He was mugging Sam rather mercilessly, though. I took him to lunch to make him stop.”

Thomas took his eyes off the paper he was grading, a rare look of concern over his face. “Hey. That guy’s trouble. And I don’t mean drugs, guns, and take a shot ‘for tomorrow we shall die’ kind of trouble. He’s an entirely troublesome _person,_ you get me? Best steer clear of him, ok?”

Aaron thought of two figures crossing the lawn together, two dark heads lowered in an intimacy so strong it was almost solid, accompanied by the mournful notes from the music building, their own private siren song. _Therefore, take me and bind me to the mast. If I beg and pray you to set me free, then bind me more tightly still._

Some part of him ached, hard. “It was just lunch, Thomas.”

“Hmph. Did I mention his shoes suck?”

Aaron laughed. “Yes, you might’ve mentioned it.”

He popped his neck, feeling achy, then winced when he sat back down. His bottom half was tender and sore and he had a cramp in his stomach. Factor in the fatigue and the melancholy, and it could only be…

He sighed. His heats were sparse and irregular, but still draining when they came. “Hey, Thomas? Could you take over my undergraduate civics class this week? I’ll swap with you some other time.”

“Why?”

“I’m just not up for it.”

Thomas looked over, pen in mouth. “Oh. Time of the month?” he said tactlessly.

Aaron considered throwing something at him. “ _No_ ,” he lied. “I just need a break from them. They never do the reading and it drives me crazy.”

Thomas pretended to think for a moment, then held up one finger. “Condition.”

“Aw, hell.”

“Come to my family soiree at the end of next month.”

“ _No_ , I can’t mingle with your upper society people, they hate me.”

“Jemmy Madison will be there. The Schuyler sisters will be there. No one hates you.”

“Are you trying to hook me up with someone?”

“What am I, a pimp? I just think it’ll be good for you to socialize. Have some fun. Cut loose.”

“ _No one_ cuts loose at one of these parties. No one has fun. No one dares. Is it white tie?”

“Of course.”

“Damn. Thomas, I don’t even _have_ full evening dress.”

“So go shopping.”

“Where, at the corner bodega?” Aaron said through gritted teeth. “I can’t afford it.”

“Ooh, then boy, do I have a solution for you.” Thomas sat up and dramatically twirled a business card in Aaron’s direction.

He took it and read, “Mulligan’s Custom Tailoring?”

“He’s not established,” said Jefferson, shrugging. “Actually, he’s just starting out. But he’s good, runs a good business. And he’s offering a big discount for anyone who’ll do a photoshoot in one of his suits. For advertising. Ever wanna be a model?”

“Are you kidding?”

“You’ve got the bone structure for it.”

“Thomas, I thought we established that you’re not, in fact, a pimp.”

“Hey, you want that class covered? Come to my soir-raaaaaay,” he sing-songed obnoxiously, and spun in his chair, going back to the exams.

X

The sky was a fussy gray by the time his shift ended. Aaron filled up his cheap, logoed sports bottle with water and headed to the campus gym. He wouldn’t be up for exercise next week, so he put extra time into his work out, going until his body screamed with aches, his satiny gym shirt sporting wet underarms and bib.

Scrubbed and changed, he drove home the long way, stopping by a block of vacant storefronts and getting out by an alley, to see if the stray cat he’d been feeding would appear.

A plaintive _meow_ came from around a dark corner and a pair of glowing eyes blinked out at him, then the animal itself came waddling over, bumping its head against Aaron’s pant leg.

The cat was dark orange, almost brown, with a stocky, wobbly body and a round sleepy face. Even its ears were rounded, so that he looked less like a cat and more like a…

“What’s goin’ on, Bear?” Aaron said, smiling.

Bear meowed again, even more mournfully, his paws tapping a frantic beat onto the concrete.

“Ok, ok.” Aaron took out a container of cat food and bent down, peeling off the adhesive cover, the cat rushing over and burying nose and mouth into the plastic cup before he even set it down.

“Just don’t bite me this time.” He patted Bear’s chubby behind as the feast proceeded with much smacking and slurping and whisker twitching. “You know, you’re pretty fat for a street cat. Been catching lots of mice? Yeah? Then why do you always act like you’re starving?” He laughed as Bear nuzzled into his hand, smearing him with drool and chicken pate.

Jim had always hated cats. Not just disliked them, but actively _loathed_ them. _They’re creepy as hell_ , he’d groused, _the way they look at you_. _And you can’t even train them, they never do what you want._ He’d once chased down a stray just to throw a rock at it.

 _Jim’s not here_ , Aaron reminded himself.

“Stay safe, little buddy,” said Aaron. Bear purred at him and blinked lazily.

Back at home – home being the tiny, patchy apartment he’d once shared with Theodosia, the chalk mural she’d started on one wall forever unfinished – he cracked open the fridge and gathered eggs and butter and parsley for an omelet, and toast to go with. But then he remembered that he’d had a full sandwich for lunch. He put away the eggs and pulled out lettuce, cherry tomatoes, peppers, and dressing instead. 

Jim’s voice again, intruding: _There’s no excuse for being sloppy or fat, it’s all about self-control. You owe it to me_ and _to yourself to keep fit. If you eat like a pig, you’ll look like a pig. People who let themselves get fat have no self-respect._ Jim usually said this while sprawled on the couch in his underwear, surrounded by fast food wrappers and squashed ketchup packets. When Aaron would point out the hypocrisy, Jim would laugh (if he happened to be in a good mood) and say, _I gotta eat to keep up my muscles, babe, you like my body, don’t you?_

Aaron didn’t have the energy to remind himself a third time that that Jim wasn’t here.

He put the dressing back into the fridge, unopened. Then he remembered that he’d grabbed a bagel on the way to class that morning, so he put back the tomatoes and peppers too. He stood there in the yellowy fridge light, frozen for a moment, then closed the door and went to the living room to watch the news on TV. He ended up eating nothing at all. 


	2. 10 Duel Commandments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a duel! (and the aftermath)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No coypright infringement intended, no profits made. Enjoy!

“Alexander.”

“Aaron Burr, sir.”

“Ale- _xander_.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Aaron sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a fingertip, ignoring the other man’s smirk.

He’d only met the guy a week ago, and now Alexander Hamilton was suddenly showing up everywhere he looked. Like an annoying song lyric he couldn’t shake, Alexander popped in and out of his waking hours, frequent and unexpected: waving to him in the hallway from behind an armful of garbage lid-sized books, bolting past at the campus café _hey I bought an extra coffee you take it with a double shot right ok I’ll see you later_ and plunking down a coffee cup so that droplets splattered the paper Aaron was reading, shooting up with a counterargument during a lecture Aaron didn’t even know he took. A breathless laugh disappearing just around the corner. Some part of him, an elbow, an ankle, the end of a scarf, his voice, always whipping past Aaron’s eyeline.

And now: Alexander across from him in a field in the middle of nowhere, decked out in paintball gear, a grinning Baader–Meinhof phenomenon.

It had started out a _good_ day. Aaron had woken up to a dove-gray morning, with just enough chill in the air to frost the tip of his nose. He’d put on a fuzzy sweater and made himself a cup of French-pressed coffee, taking it to the window and letting that first inhale of the smoky, buttery vapors warm his face while listening to AM news on Theodosia’s vintage tabletop radio.

Then, his phone rang. Charles Lee on the other end: demanding in an urgently squeaky voice that Aaron come down and drive them both out of town for what he first misheard as a “paintball deal.”

He’d chugged the coffee and bolted downstairs as Charles texted him eight continuous times to _hurry up, we gotta go, we gotta do this!_ because why not, who doesn’t like a good sale, and he’d been meaning to get a new rotor for his marker and there was a camo vest he’d been eyeing for a while….

Only to learn that Charles had somehow gotten himself into a “paintball _duel_ ” with none other than Alexander _freakin’_ Hamilton.

Except this was less like a lush green hill to heroically die on and more like a scraggly park off the highway littered with beer bottles and condom wrappers.

“You know this is completely dumb and immature, right?” he said for what felt like the tenth time.

“Is it?” said Alex, examining his nails with deliberate tea party prissiness. “Duels were all the rage back in the 18th century. If anything, this is _too_ mature.”

“They used real guns back then, you know.”

“Hey, Lee was the one who chose paintball instead of rustling us up some muskets. Don’t blame _me_ for not being authentic.”

Aaron bit back yet another sigh. “Look, I don’t know what Charles did to piss you off, but we’re all adults here. Can’t we just _talk_ it out?” Meaning: _can’t_ you _just talk it out while_ I _go get eggs over easy at that Denny’s we passed half an hour ago?_

Alex made a scoffing noise that sounded like he was laughing and gagging at the same time. “Exercising his free speech is what got your boy Chuck _into_ this mess.”

“Wha… Wait, is this about that article he wrote?”

The campus newspaper, the _Liberty Daily_ , had run Charles’ scathing op ed piece on the Law School faculty three days ago, which had lambasted the department for incompetence and favoritism, with numerous thinly-veiled insults to the “Mt. Vernon hack who probably spends his free time growing and smoking weed.” In other words: Professor Washington, who taught constitutional law and headed the internship program. And, who had been unapologetically harsh with Charles’ work last semester and rejected his application. Who Alexander idolized and considered a personal mentor.

“I can’t _believe_ Laf let that piece of garbage go to print,” Alexander grumbled, “Laf” pinging in Aaron’s mind as a possible nickname for the editor of the _Daily,_ Lafayette. 

“This is childish,” said Aaron. “Washington would be pissed if he knew. He’d probably haul you both before the dean.”

“Me? Nah. John’s the one who’ll be getting satisfaction.”

Aaron groaned in frustration. “And I can’t believe you involved John in this too!”

John, who was standing further back, took a break from glaring at Charles to wave cheerfully at Aaron.

“See?” said Alex cheekily. “My hands are clean. I’m just the second.”

Aaron glanced back at Charles, who was standing a dozen feet back and practicing his best angry bulldog impression. His mind whirled with ways to defuse the situation. He raised his hands, palms up, placating. “Look, Charles can get a little hotheaded sometimes. We all do. But he didn’t mean any harm, and I’m sure he had reason to write what he-”

Alex took a sudden step forward into Aaron’s space, startling him with their proximity. “Why do you do that?” Alex said softly, looking very closely at Aaron’s face.

 _If I leaned forwards just a little, I’d be within kissing distance,_ Aaron thought wildly, feeling his face start to color. “Do what?”

“Stick up for him, even when you know he’s wrong.”

“Uh…” Aaron stumbled, “that’s kind of what friends do, you know. Stick up for each other.”

“It’s not just him,” said Alex, musingly. “Seabury too, and that jerkwad Jefferson.” And then he took _another freaking step closer_ , so they were practically nose to nose, his voice lowering to the most intimate of whispers, “Why do you hang around people who don’t deserve you?”

And _hell_ , those words went straight to his stomach like a bolt of whiskey, hot and smooth. Equal parts irritation – _who the hell is he to say what I deserve? –_ and seduction – _damn, his lips look soft and they are_ right there, _when the hell did it get so hot?_ And Aaron was suddenly thinking very hard of all the things he’d like to deserve but didn’t, and how sweetly painful it was to imagine Alexander giving them to him.

It was Charles who broke the spell with a loud, “Yo! Are we doing this or not?”

“I don’t know, Lee,” Alex shouted back over Aaron’s shoulder. “Are you ready to apologize for being a whiny, bitchy, conniving, unimaginative little hot-shot wannabe who can’t even tell his own ass from his-”

“Ok! Ok!” Aaron interjected, pushing Alex back. “I guess we’re doing this.”

He went and got the gun bag while Charles and John squared off, Alex retreating to glower dramatically in silence, toting his own marker like some kind of mafia henchman.

“Choose your weapons, gentleman,” said Aaron, snapping open the sleek carbon case with the two pistols inside. 

“What’ll it be, Laurens?” Charles said grinning, obviously relishing the fact that neither John nor Alex were avid paintball players and this was one thing he was better at than them. “The Tippmann or the Walther PPQ?”

“You’re the challenged party,” John said mildly (“AKA the douchebag!” Alex shout-whispered from afar.) “You get first pick.”

Charles grabbed the Walther and handed it to Aaron to be loaded.

“Just go easy on him, ok?” said Aaron, as John huddled across the field with Alex. He loaded the mag with a click and handed it to Charles.

“Not a chance,” Charles said viciously. “Think Hamilton will be up for a round once I destroy Laurens?”

“In any case, you’re buying me breakfast after this for dragging me out here.”

“Why don’t you get Hamilton to take you out?” Charles said with a slight sneer. “You guys seemed pretty cozy back there a second ago.”

And yep, Aaron was definitely blushing now. It felt like someone had flicked a lighter on behind his ear. “Wha… You… I don’t even… Just go shoot someone, ok?” 

“Count on it.”

“Get your mask on, don’t lose an eye.”

“Get your own marker ready, back me up if they try anything funny.”

X

“You look cute with your hair up,” Alex teased, as John pulled his hair into a loose bun so he could tuck it under the mask. His wandering eye went across to Aaron and Charles Lee, watching them do a series of warm-up hops and then a complicated hand shake, followed by a grunting chest bump. “Liberty or death!” they chanted solemnly, knocking elbows.

“Aaron’s kind of a nerd, isn’t he?” Alex chuckled.

“Nerds are cute,” said John, and Alex quickly looked at him, unsure if it was an accusation or a confession. But John was smiling gently and knowingly behind the plastic faceplate. “It’s ok. I can tell when you’re… fascinated by someone.”

“I…”

“Hey. It’s ok.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll talk about it later, ok?”

Alex cleared his throat, flushing a little. “Ok. So. You ready for this?”

“Hell yeah. Lee won’t know what hit him.”

“Just to be clear, you’ve never actually done this before?”

“No. But I played Duck Hunter when I was a kid. I was the best out of all my cousins.”

“You do have a lot of cousins.”

Alex gave John’s shoulders a two-handed pat down, then playfully kissed the forehead area of his mask. “Go get ‘em.”

X

They started off back to back. Aaron counted the paces, trying not to roll his eyes the whole time at the pack of _drama queens_ he was somehow associated with. They took their steps across the patchy grass field, John with light grace, Charles with pissy determination and a scowl.

“9… and 10!”

“Fire!” shouted Alex.

They both spun around at the same time, guns snapping into position. Simultaneous pops. For some reason, maybe because he slipped on a damp patch or maybe because he was just tense, Charles’ shot went wide. John, however, nailed Charles right in the center of his forehead, making him flail backwards with an undignified squawk.

“ _Ooh_ ,” Aaron gasped, wincing in sympathy.

“ _Hell_ yeah!” Alex cheered, as John threw his arms up in the air and whooped. They jumped into each other’s arms, hugging and celebrating obnoxiously, leaving Charles still staggering.

Aaron sighed, glad the whole thing was over. “Well, them’s the breaks Charlie,” he said, starting to plug his barrel, mind already on the quickest route back to the parking lot, wondering if they could stop by the convenience store to pick up a newspaper and some pork rinds, but then froze when he noticed Charles raising his pistol again, practically heaving with rage, aiming for John and Alex’s unguarded backs. He could almost see the cartoon steam lines rising from Charles’ paint-splattered forehead, a teakettle whistling in the background somewhere.

“Charles, what are you doing? No, c’mon man, _no_. Don’t do this, Charles. Charles… _Charlie… Charles, don’t_!”

Aaron flinched as Charles fired onto the unsuspecting pair, the pistol popping furiously, hitting shoulders, arms, and backs with paintballs. Alex yelped and spun around in a rage, glaring for a horrible, furious moment, while Aaron thought _oh no, here it comes,_ and then raised his gun and unloaded on both Charles and Aaron for the betrayal.

“Oh shit!” Aaron dodged left and sprinted for cover, pellets glancing off his arm, one of them breaking against his ribs, Charles shrieking dramatically, “I’m hit, I’m hit!” somewhere to his right. He slapped himself against a tree, then peeked around, saw Charles with his arms over his head, running blind.

“Dammit, Charles,” he muttered, then breathed once, lifted and aimed, then fired a burst somewhere in Alex’s vicinity. The distraction gave Charles time to crab-scramble over, wedging himself into cover next to Aaron, and then immediately continuing to squeeze off rounds at their impromptu enemies.

“Dammit, Charles!” he said again. To Alex and John, he yelled, “Hey! Truce, truce!”

X

“You don’t get to call truce while you’re shooting at us!” Alex yelled back. He shoved John behind a boulder and army-crawled his way behind a few scraggly-looking bushes. “Man, Lee’s a _dick_.”

“What now?!” John called over to him. “Duck Hunter didn’t prepare me for this!”

“Well, babe, fortunately for the both of us, I anticipated that Lee would end up being a total asshole today.” He lifted his gun and took aim, grinning just a bit maniacally. “I had one of the undergraduate mechies make a, uh, _modification_ to this little number here.”

He pulled the trigger and fired on full auto, letting loose an unholy spray of pellets, in what could only be described as paintball diarrhea on a Thursday morning after Chili Tuesday and Laxative Wednesday. It was like shooting a gas-powered power washer.

“Whoo! Hell, yeah!”

Two simultaneous yelps of “ _Oh shit!_ ” came from the tree where the enemy was hiding.

X

“Shitshitshit,” Charles was grumbling, arms over head.

Aaron was crouched into as tight a ball as he could under the onslaught. “Is this seriously happening right now?” He was getting battered mercilessly, and it stung like hell. He’d be a walking paint roller in a minute. He yelled back at Alexander _freakin’_ Hamilton and his freakin’ monster of a gun, “Hey! This is bullshit! Full auto modifications are prohibited under safety rule 4, subsection 1.12.3A, YOU. ASS.”

“You know, they totally deserve what’s coming,” said Charles, and pulled something out of his pocket.

Aaron’s eyes bugged out. “What the… Is that a grenade?!”

“ _Smoke_ grenade,” Charles said defensively.

“Where did you even get that?”

“Store in New Jersey.”

“Huh.”

“As soon as Ham-Face stops to reload, I’m gonna pull it and throw it. You flank left.”

“Charles, I really don’t think you should…”

“Flank left, I’ll go the other way. Got it?”

“Wait...!”

X

Alex’s gun clicked and came to an abrupt stop. “Huh.”

“What’s going on?” said John, shuffling over from the protection of his boulder.

“Don’t know. I think it’s jammed.”

“Try shaking it.”

“I am. It’s not working.”

“Oh wait, I think I see the problem. You’re out of ammo.”

“Oh. I guess when you fire a million rounds a second, you run out pretty fast.”

“Do you want some of mine?”

“Maybe, let’s see if they’ve surrendered first.”

Something landed in front of them, spewing smoke.

“Is that a…?”

“No way, that can’t be.”

Fruit Punch-colored smoke belched out like hellfire and enveloped them both, got them good and blind, flailing and wailing like a pair of idiots. From the left: five bursts of semi-automatic fire that left them stinging and shouting. A second later from the right: a furious Charles Lee who leaped over the boulder firing like a maniac, with his bizarre war-cry of “Wheeeee!!”

X

“I. Have never. Been so embarrassed. In all my life. You. Are a _disgrace_.”

Aaron thought his uncle had a fierce glare, one that said, “I will obliterate you, your hopes and dreams, your loved ones, and your dog.” But Professor Washington’s death glare was on a whole new level. It said, “I will obliterate you, your hopes and dreams, your loved ones, and your dog, because I’m _disappointed_ in you.”

At least it wasn’t the dean.

Washington marched back and forth like a drill sergeant before the four of them, who stood paint-splattered and ashamed in his office.

“No security measures. No regard for public safety. No regard for _the law_.” He ticked off their sins on his fingers. “Unloading _weapons_ in a public park. Setting off a _goddamn_ smoke grenade with no regard for local ordinances, right off a _highway_ no less. All because of a _duel_? I’d say this is childish, but that would be an insult to _children_!”

“Sir-” Alexander attempted.

“And _you!_ ” Washington stepped right into his face, making him emit a small whimper. “Breaking safety rule 4, subsection 1.12.3A? What the hell were you thinking?”

Alex chuckled nervously. “Wow. You’re a paintball nerd too, Prof?” The death stare Washington gave him could have shriveled the testicles off a raging bull elephant. “Never mind, shutting up.”

After a moment, Washington resumed his pacing. Alex looked like he was ready to wilt.

“Imagine my shock, no, imagine my _abject humiliation_ when security called me and told me that four _boneheads_ were caught _brawling_ and disturbing the peace, and more than that, they were from _my school,_ and are therefore _my boneheads_. Do you realize that when you study here, even when you walk off campus, you’re representing the school? And the values of the school? And _me_?”

Aaron winced, remember how Alex had been shouting _this is for Professor Washington, you asshole!_ when security had finally pulled him off from grinding Charles’ face into the dirt. He coughed nervously and tried, “A-actually, sir, I just want to state for the record that I wasn’t originally involved in this-” He broke off when Washington turned that _I will break you_ glare onto him. “Never mind, shutting up.”

The professor took three paces down the length of his office then turned sharply to face them. “Hamilton!” he barked, making Alex gulp. “This isn’t colonial America. You’re not fighting for my honor. Get your head out of the clouds. This is the real world, where we have real problems and real work to do. The whole reason you’re studying law is to learn to advocate for people through _civil discourse_. You know, _talking it out_? If you can’t solve your problems without getting into a slap fight, then maybe reconsider why you’re here.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said quietly.

“Burr!” Aaron nearly squeaked, as Washington came up to him with possibly the most disappointed look in the known universe. “I expected better from you,” was all he said, which _hurt._

“Lee!”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“I take it you’re the one who started this whole thing?”

“W-well…”

“Speak up.”

“N-nothing.”

“What’s the matter? I thought you had plenty to say. Not so chatty anymore?” Washington held a moment of silence, during which Charles flushed from his roots to his neck. He continued in a softer voice, “If you have a problem with the faculty, with _me_ , then can I trust you to be an _adult_ and come talk to me about it instead of spreading rumors? This ain’t junior high, son.”

John piped up, “He also shot us in the back. That was a dick move… never mind, shutting up.”

Washington moved to stand behind his desk, hands planted on the edge. He looked them over one by one. It was intimidating as hell. Aaron knew Washington had served in the armed forces, but sometimes he wondered if the professor had also worked for the CIA.

“I could have you all on academic suspension for this,” he said slowly, then waved away the dismayed protests. “Unfortunately for me and my mental health,” he continued, “I happen to believe in second chances. So, I’m willing to let this slide. _If_ you all promise this will never, ever happen again from now until kingdom come.”

“I swear it won’t,” said Charles.

“I swear even harder than he does, sir,” Alex added quickly, making Charles glare at him.

“ _And_ ,” said Washington, holding up a hand. “If you kiss and make up right now and put an end to this nonsense once and for all.”

The four of them looked at each other with varying degrees of trepidation and disgust. Alex squirmed like he was being pinched.

“ _Now_ ,” Washington insisted.

After a prickly moment, Charles took a deep breath, puffing up a little, and stepped forward. “I’ll go first them, if no one else will,” he said magnanimously. “Alexander. Despite our differences, you and I are a lot alike.”

The left side of Alex’s face twitched like he was trying very hard to suppress a rude expression. John snorted very, very quietly.

“In fact,” Charles continued, “I see a lot of myself in you. My failures and my successes. I think it’s not too forward of me to say, I consider you as a younger, less experienced me.” (Alex made a gagging noise that he quickly disguised as a cough.) “I see in you the same passion, the same drive to succeed. And while misguided, it’s that very passion that drove me to speak my mind in that article. I’m sorry it offended you, but I’m not sorry for my passion. But we can agree to disagree and bury the hatchet, because I. Respect. You.”

Charles stepped back, looking pleased with himself. Alex looked about ready to either burst out laughing or punch him.

Aaron quickly cut in, “OK, then! Thank you, Charles. Me next. Um… I’m sorry for all the shooting I did. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry for the smoke grenade too, even though that wasn’t my idea. Jersey, am’right? Hah. Anyway, sorry Professor. It won’t happen again.” He exhaled, hoping this could blow over without another major argument. In the back of his mind, he realized was late to a fitting with Hercules Mulligan, who was making his suit.

“I’ve got something to say,” Alex declared loudly. “I want to make an apology.” He came forward and Aaron stepped back, expecting him to go to Charles. Instead, Alex stopped in front of Aaron and took both his hands.

“Aaron,” he said, making soulful eye contact. Aaron felt himself start to sweat. “I am so, so sorry to get you involved in this. It was never my intention to get you in trouble or harm you in any way. You are… wonderful. Smart. Exemplary. Don’t ever change.”

Aaron’s eyebrows went up to his hairline as Alexander then proceeded to bend down and _kiss_ his hands. Both of them. He stepped back and smiled a slow, mischievous smile, then gave a quick nod to John, who sidled up and straight up hugged Aaron.

“Sorry for this mess,” John said into Aaron’s ear. “Let’s do it again, sometime ok? You have to admit it was kind of fun.” He pressed a quick kiss on Aaron’s cheek, leaving an imprint of his smile.

The both of them turned towards Charles, who was waiting with open arms, obviously expecting a hug or something similar.

“We’re cool, Lee,” Alex said shortly, slapping one of his outstretched hands and walking straight out the door. John simply grunted and followed suit, leaving Charles looking rather forlorn. And leaving Aaron shellshocked.

“What in the world was _that_ all about?” he managed to stammer once they were both gone. His cheek and hands were still burning.

Washington sighed in a profoundly weary way and started packing up his briefcase. “Figure it out, son. I’ve got shit to do.”

“Uh… ok. Hey, Professor, can we count on you for next month’s paintball tournament against the Boston Kingsmen?”

“You know it. Liberty or death.”

“Awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This chapter was inspired by THAT zany episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, which guest starred Lin Manuel Miranda. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave feedback and let me know what you think! Also: my sincere thanks and admiration to Random_Soul, whose work inspired this story!


End file.
